


a good thing together, so unpredictable

by LittleLostStar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Freeform, M/M, Songfic, Yuuri and Victor are destined to find each other in every universe, basically this is one of the most on-brand things I've ever done, it always comes back to the banquet, just a lot of fancy writing about how these two boys love each other, metaphors all over the place, some amount of metatextual nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 16:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostStar/pseuds/LittleLostStar
Summary: We were dancing, weren’t we?Yes. Yes, that’s how it began.The details start to blur, after so many of them pass you by. There’s only so much you can ever commit to memory, but Victor knows he remembers the important parts. There he is in a room, the lights glowing golden under the gauzy veil of alcohol. There he is, Galatea awaiting Aphrodite, rigid and confined and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. There he is, and then thereheis.He. Him. The singular, the eternal, the endlessly complicated and utterly unique collection of star stuff that is named Yuuri Katsuki.You’ve heard this story before, surely.





	a good thing together, so unpredictable

**Author's Note:**

> WELL HI THERE FRIENDS. It's been a while, I know. I won't go into the details but suffice to say I've been extremely sick, my job was driving me literally insane, and it's been a rough year all around. I'm still sorting out the extent of the trauma I've experienced, and Yuri on Ice got caught up in it in ways I'm only just starting to untangle. It's going to be a slow comeback, but I am determined to come back. This fic is a small first step; I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> The song used is "6's to 9's" by Big Wild; find it on [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUzWOuXUpyk) and [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/4DAaQ5InUO23d8yNRbB0Yj?si=L5wV8xKdTjShzgWJ4c185w) (and wherever else you get your music).

_(i want you to hold me _  
_ come and lay with me_  
_ set aside your problems with me, baby_  
_ save your conversation for the basement (yeah)_  
_ i want you speaking in tongues_  
_ you know what they say about those)_

_ We were dancing, weren’t we? _

Yes. Yes, that’s how it began. 

The details start to blur, after so many of them pass you by. There’s only so much you can ever commit to memory, but Victor knows he remembers the important parts. There he is in a room, the lights glowing golden under the gauzy veil of alcohol. There he is, Galatea awaiting Aphrodite, rigid and confined and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. There he is, and then there _ he _ is. 

_ He. _ Him. The singular, the eternal, the endlessly complicated and utterly unique collection of star stuff that is named _ Yuuri Katsuki_. 

You’ve heard this story before, surely. 

But Victor can’t help it, can he? It’s a cliche to say things like _ colours got brighter _ and _ music sounded better_, but sometimes it’s all just the plain and naked truth. 

As if in slow motion, Victor sees Yuuri’s hand extending towards him—a sudden z-axis in a two-dimensional world, a violation of every established law of reality and yet somehow a perfect fit. Victor remembers Yuuri’s skin being warm, his eyes shining in all the light around them, and then they’re dancing, dancing, dancing, and everything else decays until there’s nothing but two collections of star stuff, orbiting each other, pulled together by gravity like fabric beneath their feet. 

Victor remembers the important things: the glow of the lights, the way his knees turn to jelly when Yuuri smiles, the faintly ringing klaxon bell signalling the dissolution of something, something, _ something _ in the back of his mind. He isn’t sure, in the thick of the moment, exactly what it is that falls away, but once it’s gone he finds his shoulders have relaxed and smiling seems so much easier.

(If it’s important, it will come back, Victor reasons. He knows it never will.) 

He remembers the symphony of their footsteps and breaths and clothes as they move together, all tentative smiles and anxiously leaping heartbeats. He remembers thinking _ yes, yes, yes, _ as if all the _ no-_shaped antimatter in the universe has been obliterated in this instant, and _ yes _will build everything from this point forward. 

There he is, Victor Nikiforov, a beautiful doll whose mechanisms are never quite broken enough to grant him reprieve from the hands that would reach for him, take him, move him from this place to that. There he is, an oft-repeated lie wrapped in impeccable dental work and years of torture dressed up as art. There he is, on a night that should be like any other, and instead— 

_(they come together, look we're together _  
_ you can't let them slip away_  
_ (you can't let them slip away)_  
_ a good thing together, so unpredictable_  
_ but one thing i know for sure)_

_ Not at first. I was too afraid. _

Yuuri comes into this story just a little bit earlier, born over fourteen billion years ago and handed off from star to star and dust cloud to dust cloud. His constituent atoms wander the almost infinite emptiness for a literally unimaginable length of time, guided by sheer and unfounded chance; the number of factors involved in getting him here defy traditional notation. That’s okay; we can skip the recap. 

The sun is shining this time. He’s very sure of that. 

And the sun is beautiful; that’s why Yuuri remembers it so well. It’s radiant and warm and almost hurts to look at, and Yuuri is dancing, dancing, dancing, surrounded by bodies that have coalesced into a single Bacchanalian organism that undulates and sways and has a pulse that sings in perfect time with the music all around them.

It doesn’t matter where he is, not exactly. It doesn’t matter what he’s done, either. At this point he’s been so many places and done so many things that _ cause _ and _ effect _ are more buzzwords than logic. Yuuri is chaotic, flailing, a godless set of dice strewn into every quantum corner. He is a universe within a universe, just one of billions of Matryoshka dolls containing multitudes on multitudes. He’s nothing special. 

But there is the sun. 

The sun is great, bright, more awesome than Yuuri ever could have expected. He is spared from disintegration by the grace of alcohol and semantics, for surely there’s no point in unraveling such a disjointed being as he. All his life Yuuri has feared the sun; he has pulled himself into the shadows, retreated from its warmth, been cowed and humbled and overwhelmed. He understands why people once worshipped the stars, before they knew they were stars themselves. But tonight is different. 

(There’s no reason for it to be different, mind you, other than the fact that Yuuri throws an infinite dart and observes the position of a molecule and decides that uncertainty is for suckers.)

The sun has many names, but this time Yuuri knows him as _ Victor_. He offers himself up, a willing sacrifice for an all-consuming deity, whispering final prayers that sound a great deal like _ dance with me. _

And then the sun is shining brighter than he even thought possible, and Yuuri almost certainly goes blind in an instant, but it doesn’t matter. The light continues, racing through him, twirling around in the huge dance floors suspended between every electron; and he can see, he can see, he can _ see. _

_(you turn my sixes to nines _  
_ frequently fly, we can't deny, no_  
_ this feeling tonight_  
_ i know i weaken when i_  
_ when i look in your eye_  
_ and you're holding me tight_  
_ we're in love, you and i_  
_ you turn my sixes to nines_  
_ you turn my sixes to nines)_

_ Or perhaps it was the ice. _

Quite the opposite of the sun, you’ll note. Victor has always thought so. The ice is just as solid and rigid as the beings who call it home; there are those who stubbornly plant flags on ground that refuses to embrace them, and instead of finding somewhere softer to land they will resist, pouring every part of themselves into the arbitrary act of living until it all feels worth it in the end. As if an _ ending _ is anything but a mere beginning draped in mourning black. 

When you’ve chosen this life, you adjust your expectations accordingly. Some parts of you freeze, suspended forever in a slice of time that everyone else has forgotten; other parts become hardened, forming a shell over the things that are too soft and fragile to survive. Victor is alone for the longest time, and his heart is beating, beating, beating, throwing itself against the bars of its cage despite being born in captivity. He skates a proxy of a proxy of a proxy of the anguish that thrums in his ribcage, a subconscious yearning for a home he’s never truly known. He thinks this might be nostalgia. 

But then there is Yuuri, and in his arms the world begins to thaw. 

It’s daunting, to be so vulnerable when surrounded by so many observing eyes. Alone, Victor has become quite proficient at performing vulnerability, donning it like a costume so that he is sandwiched between the constructed inner self that he shows to others and the actual inner self that would shrivel up and die under the scrutiny. Sometimes he gets the two of them confused. 

_ But then there is Yuuri, _ and he embodies everything that the world has always ascribed to Victor himself. He is talented and confident and genuinely, publicly, embarrassingly, endearingly, _ stunningly _ vulnerable. His earnestness outshines his fear; _ composure _ doesn’t seem to be a word in his vocabulary, but then again, _ composure _ is just the name Victor gives to the parts of himself that have gone so frozen and stiff that they might as well belong to someone else. 

The first time they dance, the world beneath their feet is as cold and unwelcoming as it’s always been, but then Yuuri cups Victor’s cheek in his hand and suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter. They glide together, cutting a path through the world that otherwise traps them; they lean on each other, pushing and pulling in an equilibrium that is imperfect solely because most things in the universe are imperfect. They snap together, two atoms in a molecule, and the energy generated between them when they part is always enough to propel them back together again. 

Outside, nothing has to change. But Victor never steps out onto ice again, not truly; for the rest of his life—which is, functionally, for as long as Yuuri will have him—he thinks he’s found a better, warmer, kinder place to call home. 

_(i want you to hold me _  
_ ride this with me_  
_ set aside your inhibitions maybe_  
_ sometimes when it feels right (feels right)_  
_ maybe it's alright (alright, alright)_  
_ i want you speaking in tongues_  
_ know what they say about those)_

_ I was drawn to you because of the music. _

Yuuri’s heart is a drum, and it’s beating beating beating. He sometimes thinks he can’t control it, but in the end the rhythm always seems to work out in perfect time with the tempo of his life. 

It’s remarkable, actually. In this metaphor, he’s never learned to read music, never understood the logic behind all the tones and disruptions and time signatures; but music is a universal thing, and _ talent _ is not necessarily synonymous with _ practice_, so Yuuri gets by anyway. His decisions are made based on a cobbled-together understanding of the universe, and it feels so _ messy _, and the moments when everything resolves are more terrifying than the moments when it all falls apart. 

But yet Yuuri continues, his heart drumming drumming drumming, and in some moments he thinks he’s learned to trust it. He’s at the mercy of his own imagination, able to creatively construct a billion possible universes and understand with keen sorrow the sheer number of them that will seem like failures. It’s not a small amount, but it’s a controllable amount, and over time Yuuri starts to think that he might have created his own language to express what the world says in words and deeds and skating scores. His heart is a drum and it leads him into battle, and sometimes, sometimes, _ sometimes, _ he wins.

This is all a very roundabout way of saying that Yuuri knows exactly what he’s doing when he asks Victor Nikiforov to dance. He knows Victor will say yes, knows that the drumbeats of their hearts and the singing in their souls will fall into perfect harmony, and just like that he’ll never dance alone again. 

His heart is drumming a rapid patter against his ribs, his limbs surrendering control to the music and saying all the things that defy words or sounds or conscious thought. The smile on his face is a multidimensional beacon of joy and romance and just a _ soupçon _ of terror. To spice things up, you see. 

Every song needs a bridge—the moment when something fundamentally changes, when the comfortable routine of verse-chorus-verse gets marvelously disrupted, when the stakes are raised, when the emotions are clearer than they’ve ever been. Yuuri takes one look at Victor’s face, lit up with joy at the warmth of his touch, and knows that his life has shifted into a new and clearer key. 

_(they come together, look we're together _  
_ you can't let them slip away_  
_ you can't let them slip away_  
_ a good thing together, so unpredictable_  
_ but one thing i know for sure)_

_ Every decision begets a universe. _

In every one of these universes, the collection of star stuff named Yuuri and the collection of star stuff named Victor find their way to each other. Sometimes that’s just how it is.

The details change, blur, become more myth than reality. Wishful thinking blends seamlessly into memories lit bright like flashbulbs, reflecting and refracting and rejoicing and remembering. Sometimes everything is different, and sometimes it’s all the same bar a few molecules here and there. The important things remain consistent. 

There is the fluttering heartbeat as skin meets skin. There is an electric sensation as their gazes meet, amid fireworks as billions of photons rain like stars into their eyes. There is always a dance, always the music carrying them across the very last stretch of their loneliness. There is the blossom of warmth that melts something inside of them, exposing fresh ground that can grow something new. 

It’s easy to assume this is a sad story, but that’s not what Victor would call it. No matter what, regardless of the before or the after, meeting Yuuri is always the moment when his life transforms forever. 

You’ve heard all of this before, of course. 

_(you turn my sixes to nines _  
_ frequently fly, we can't deny, no_  
_ this feeling tonight_  
_ i know i weaken when i_  
_ when i look in your eye_  
_ and you're holding me tight_  
_ we're in love, you and i_  
_ you turn my sixes to nines_  
_ you turn my sixes to nines)_

_ But it really doesn’t have to be that complicated, my love. _

Everything that has happened before will happen again, so it may as well all be the same thing. So what actually happens is this: 

Yuuri takes a chance.  
Victor makes a decision.  
Yuuri offers his hand.   
And Victor takes it.

  
That’s all it needs to be. 

_(you turn my sixes to nines_  
_ frequently fly, we can't deny, no_  
_ this feeling tonight_  
_ i know i weaken when i_  
_ when i look in your eye_  
_ and you're holding me tight_  
_ we're in love, you and i_  
_ you turn my sixes to nines)_

**Author's Note:**

> *stands on soapbox* Ahem: Nice. 
> 
> There, I've done it, I've made the joke so none of you have to. 
> 
> ~~  
come find me: [Tumblr](https://iwritevictuuri.tumblr.com), [Twitter.](https://www.twitter.com/iwritevictuuri)
> 
> If you liked this, please consider commenting!


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